"Six days," said Margaret, laughing.

"Ah! I did not mean his last week's appearance, or any of his pop visits. I was thinking of his summer visitation. It was so long, that some people began to look upon him as a resident."

"If his mother does not grow much better soon, we shall see him again,"

said Margaret. "It is always her illness that brings him.--Do you not believe me, Maria?"

"I believe, as before, that you say what you think. Whether you are mistaken is another question, which I cannot pretend to answer."

"I hope, Maria, that as you have placed so much confidence in me, you will not stop short at the very point which is of the greatest importance to me."

"I will not, dear. What I think on the subject of Mr Enderby, in relation to you, is, that some of your friends believe that you are the cause of his stay having been so long in the summer, and of his coming so often since. I know no more than this. How should I?"

"Then I will tell you something more, that I might as well have mentioned before. When Mrs Rowland had an idea that Mr Enderby might think of Hester, she told Hester--that miserable day in Dingleford woods--that his family expected he would soon marry a young lady of family and fortune, who was a great favourite with all his connections."

"Who may this young lady be?"

"Oh, she did not say; some one too high for our acquaintance, if we are to believe what Mrs Rowland declared."

"And do you believe it?"

"Why--. Do you?"

"I dare say Mrs Rowland may believe it herself; but she may be mistaken."

"That is exactly what Hester said," observed Margaret, eagerly. "And that was more than five months ago, and we have not heard a syllable of the matter since."

"And so intimate a friendship as yours and Mr Enderby's is," said Maria, smiling,--"it is scarcely probable that his mind should be full of such an affair, and that he should be able to conceal it so perfectly from you."

"I am glad you think so," said Margaret, ingenuously. "You cannot imagine how strange it is to see Mrs Grey and others taking for granted that he is free, when Hester and I could tell them in a moment what Mrs Rowland said. But if you think Mrs Rowland is all wrong, what do you really suppose about his coming so much to Deerbrook?"

"I have little doubt that those friends of yours--Mrs Grey and the others--are right. But--."

"But what?"

"Just this. If I might warn you by myself; I would caution you, not only against dwelling much upon such a fact, but against interpreting it to mean more than it possibly may. This is my reason for speaking to you upon the matter at all. I do it because you will be pretty sure to hear how the fact itself is viewed by others, while no one else would be likely to give you the caution. Mr Enderby _may_ come, as you suppose, entirely to see his mother. He may come to see you: but, supposing he does, if he is like other men, he may not know his own mind yet: and, there is another possible thing--a thing which is possible, Margaret, though he is such a dear and intimate friend--that he may not know yours--all its strength of affection, all its fidelity, all its trust and power of self-control."

"Oh, stop; pray stop," said Margaret. "You frighten me with the thoughts of all you have been saying this evening, though I could so entirely satisfy you as to what our intercourse has been--though I know Mr Enderby so much better than you do. You need warn me no more. I will think of what you have said, if I find myself doubting whether he comes to see his mother--if I find myself listening to what others may suppose about his reasons. Indeed, I will remember what you have said."

"Then I am glad I ventured to say it, particularly as you are not angry with me this time."

"I am not at all angry: how could I be so? But I do not agree with you about the fact."

"I know it, and I may be mistaken."

"Now tell me," said Margaret, "what you suppose Morris meant when she said what you heard about the pleasure of solitude depending on one's thoughts being happy or otherwise. I know it is a common old idea enough; but Morris does not know that; and I am sure she had some particular instance in view. Morris does not make general propositions, except with a particular case in her mind's eye; and she is a wise woman; and we think her sayings are weighty."

"It struck me that she had a real probability in her mind; but I did not think it related to Mr Enderby, or to anything so exclusively your own concern."

"No; I hope not: but what then?"

"I think that Morris knows more of life and the world than you, and that she does not antic.i.p.ate quite so much happiness from Hester's marriage as you do. Do not be distressed or alarmed. She means no mistrust of anybody, I imagine; but only that there is no perfect happiness in this life, that n.o.body is faultless; and no home, not even where her young ladies live, is quite free from care and trouble. It would not hurt you, surely, if she was to say this outright to you?"

"Oh, no; nor a good deal more of the same tendency. She might come much nearer to the point, good soul! without hurting me. Suppose I ask her what it was she did mean, to-night or to-morrow, when she and I are alone?"

"Well! if she is such a wise woman--. But I doubt whether you could get her nearer to the point without danger of hurting her. Can she bring herself to own that either of you have faults?"

"Oh, yes: she has never spared us, from the time we were two feet high."

"What can make you so anxious as to what she meant?"

"I really hardly know, unless it be that where one loves very much, one fears--Oh, so faithlessly! I know I ought to fear less for Hester than ever; and yet--."

The door burst open, and the foot-boy entered with his jingling tray, and news that the sedan for Miss Young was at the door. What sedan?

Margaret had asked Mrs Grey for hers, as the snow had fallen heavily, and the streets were not fit for Maria's walking. Maria was very thankful.

Here was an end of Maria's bright holiday. Mr Grey's porters must not be kept waiting. The friends a.s.sured each other that they should never forget this day. It was little likely that they should.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

HOME.

Margaret had an unconscious expectation of seeing her sister altered.

This is an irresistible persuasion in almost every case where an intimate friend is absent, and is under new influences, and amidst new circ.u.mstances. These accessories alter the image of the beloved one in our minds; our fancy follows it, acting and being acted upon in ways in which we have no share. Our sympathy is at fault, or we conceive it to be so; and doubt and trouble creep over us, we scarcely know why.

Though the letters which come may be natural and hearty, as of old, breathing the very spirit of our friend, we feel a sort of surprise at the handwriting being quite familiar. We look forward with a kind of timidity to meeting, and fear there may be some restraint in it. When the hour of meeting comes, there is the very same face, the line of the cheek, the trick of the lip, the glance of the eye; the rise and fall of the voice are the same; and the intense familiarity makes our very spirit swim in joy. We are amazed at our previous fancy--we laugh at the solemn stiffness in which our friend stood before our mind's eye, and to relieve which we had striven to recall the ludicrous situations and merry moods, in which that form and that face had been seen; and perhaps we have no peace till we have acknowledged to the beloved one the ingenuity of our self-tormentings. Is there a girl whose heart is with her brother at college, who does not feel this regularly as the vacation comes round? Is there a parent whose child is reaping honours in the field of life, and returning childlike from time to time, to rest in the old country-home--is there such a parent who is not conscious of the misgiving and the re-a.s.surance, as often as the absence and the re-union occur? Is there even the most trustful of wives, whose husband is on the other side of the globe, that is wholly undisturbed by the trans.m.u.tation of the idol in her mind? When the husband is returning, and her hungry heart is feasting on the antic.i.p.ation of his appearance, she may revel in the thought--

"And will I see his face again, And will I hear him speak?"

But it is not till that vivid face and that piercing voice thrill her sight and her ear again that all misgiving vanishes. There is nothing in life that can compensate for long partings. There ought to be few or no insurmountable obstacles to the frequent meetings, however short, of those who love each other. No duties and no privileges can be of more importance than the preservation, in all their entireness, of domestic familiarity and faith.

A very short separation will afford the experience of a long one, if it be full of events, or if the image of the absent one be dwelt upon, from hour to hour, with laborious strivings of the fancy. It has been said that this week of Hester's absence was the longest that Margaret had ever known. Besides this, she felt that she had forgotten her sister further than she could have supposed possible after a ten years'

separation. On the evening when she was expecting the travellers home, her heart was sick with expectation; and yet she was conscious of a timidity which made her feel as if alone in the world. Again and again she looked round her, to fancy what would be the aspect, of everything to Hester's eye. She wandered about the house to see once more that all was in its right place, and every arrangement in due order. She watched the bright drawing-room fire nervously, and made herself anxious about the tea-table, and sat upright on the sofa, listening for the sound of horses' feet in the snowy street, as if it had been a solemn stranger that she was expecting, instead of her own sister Hester, with whom she had shared all her heart, and spent all her days. But a small part of this anxiety was given to Mr Hope: she retained her image of him unperplexed, as a treasure of a brother, and a man with a mind so healthy that he was sure to receive all things rightly, and be pleased and satisfied, happen what might.

They came; and Hester's spring from the carriage, and her husband's way of rubbing his hands over the fire, put all Margaret's anxieties to flight. How sweet was the welcome! How delicious the contest about which was to give the welcome to this, the lasting home of the three-- whether she who had put all in order for them, or they who claimed to have the charge of her! Margaret's eyes overflowed when Hester led her to Edward for his brotherly kiss. Mr Hope's mind was disturbed for one single moment that he had not given this kiss with all the heartiness and simplicity of a brother; but the feeling was gone almost before he was conscious of it.

The fire crackled, the kettle sang, Hester took her own place at once at the tea-board, and her husband threw himself on the sofa, after ascertaining that there were no family letters for him. He knew that it was impossible that there should be any in answer to the announcement of his marriage. Even Anne's could not arrive these four or five days yet.

He desired Margaret not to tell him at present if there were any messages for him; for, if all Deerbrook had colds, he had no inclination to go out to-night to cure them. There was a long list of messages, Margaret said, but they were in the surgery; and the pupil there might bring them in, if he thought proper: they should not be sent for. This one evening might be stolen for home and comfort. Their journey had been delightful. Oxford was more splendid than Hester had had an idea of. Every facility had been afforded them for seeing it, and Mr Hope's acquaintances there had been as kind as possible. The fall of snow had not put them in any danger, and the inconveniences it had caused were rather stimulating to people who had travelled but little. Hester had had to get out of the carriage twice; and once she had walked a mile, when the driver had been uncertain about the road; but as Mrs Grey had had the foresight to cause a pair of snow boots to be put into the carriage at the last moment, no harm had happened,--not even to the wetting of feet; only enough inconvenience to make them glad to be now by their snug fireside. Hester was full of mirth and anecdote. She seemed to have been pleased with everybody and awake to everything. As her sister looked upon her brow, now open as a sleeping child's, upon the thick curl of glossy brown hair, and upon the bright smile which lighted up her exquisite face, she was amazed at herself for having perplexed such an image with apprehensive fancies.

How had Margaret spent her week? Above all, it was to be hoped she had not fatigued herself in their service. There were four days' grace yet for preparation, before they should receive their company. Margaret should not have worked so hard. Had Maria Young come yesterday? Dear Maria! she must often come. Should not the Greys be asked to dine in a quiet way, before any one else was admitted into the house? Was it not due to them? But could the footboy wait at table? Would it be possible to bring him into such training as would prevent Mrs Grey's being too much shocked at their way of getting through dinner? Or was there any one in Deerbrook who went out as a waiter? Morris must be consulted; but they must have the Greys to dinner before Monday. How was Mrs Enderby? Was her illness really thought serious, or was it only Mrs Rowland's way of talking, which was just the same, whether Mrs Enderby had a twinge of rheumatism or one of her frightful attacks? Was Mr Enderby coming?--that was the chief point. If he did not appear, it was certain that he could not be feeling uneasy about his mother. Margaret blushed when she replied that she had not heard of Mr Enderby's being expected. She could not but blush; for the conversation with Maria came full into her mind. Mr Hope saw the blush, and painfully wondered that it sent trouble through his soul.

How were Morris and the new maid likely to agree? Did Morris think the girl promising? Surely it was time to take some notice of the servants.

Edward would ring the bell twice, the signal for Morris; and Morris should introduce the other two into the parlour. They came, Morris in her best gown, and with her wedding ribbon on. When she had shaken hands with her master and mistress, and spoken a good word for her fellow-servants, as she called them, the ruddy-faced girl appeared, her cheeks many shades deeper than usual, and her cap quillings standing off like the rays on a sign-post picture of the sun. Following her came the boy, feeling awkward in his new clothes, and sc.r.a.ping with his left leg till the process was put a stop to by his master's entering into conversation with him. Hester's beauty was really so striking, as with a blushing bashfulness, she for the first time enacted the mistress before her husband's eyes, that it was impossible not to observe it.

Margaret glanced towards her brother, and they exchanged smiles. But the effect of Margaret's smile was that Mr Hope's died away, and left him grave.

"Brother!" said Margaret; "what is the true story belonging to that great book about the Polar Sea, that you see lying there?"

"How do you mean? Is there any story belonging to it at all?"